


Merry Gambit

by waywardWarden



Category: Homestuck
Genre: And I'm withholding all the smut for this, F/M, I tried to make it cutesy, I'm keeping the naughty bits to myself, I'm new to SummFang, If I get the characters wrong I am sorry, Probably failed, Sassy as fuck m8sprits, You guys get the light and happy stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardWarden/pseuds/waywardWarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s oft said by sailors, superstitious lot that they are, that the creaking and groaning timbers of a ship are her voice. Ships, good vessels, were alive and not only were to be heard and heeded, but remembered their crews just as well the crews could remember the ships.<br/>He’d spent three sweeps aboard the Marquise’s ship so far, the Merry Gambit, but the only thing listening to the ship had given him were headaches and doubts about his sanity.<br/>But…suppose those old coots were right, and their half-mumbled words between puffs of pipestuff and swigs of grog were true- then how much had the ship heard? What did she say? How much did she remember?<br/>---<br/>In which I'll post little one-shots of the Summoner and the Marquise, and the things they get up to onboard the Merry Gambit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

\---

It’s oft said by sailors, superstitious lot that they are, that the creaking and groaning timbers of a ship are her voice.

Ships, good vessels, were alive and not only were to be heard and heeded, but remembered their crews just as well the crews could remember their ships.

He’d spent three sweeps aboard the Marquise’s ship so far, the _Merry Gambit_ , but the only things listening to the ship had given him were headaches and doubts about his sanity.

But…suppose those old coots were right, and their half-mumbled words between puffs of pipestuff and swigs of grog were true- then how much had the ship heard? What did she say? How much did she remember?

“There you are. I knew I’d find you lazing around somewhere.”

Even amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy port, the sounds of fishers and porters, the chain-snap rattling of auctioneers, he could hear her silk-smooth voice cut through the chill night air to address him in a tone somewhat akin to affection.

The Marquise. Mindfang, herself.

A half-breath later and she was at his side, leaning against the deck rail in full regalia. Her coat shined, as it always did, catching and cradling the moonlight in a way he’d never seen any other fabric manage; the blue trim on it curled and curved in an almost hypnotic pattern. Her red boots, ones he’d seen crush Harbinger knows how many throats and had tasted the decks of a thousand ships, if not more, adorned her feet. From under her sleeve, he could just make out the glint of metal from the corner of his eye. The hat normally perched atop her wild mane of black curls, normally a folded thing nestled between her horns, found itself replaced by a wide-brimmed piece.

“You know me, doll,” he replied, “…hiding wherever the work isn’t.”

She smirked, a steel-clad fingertip tapping the dark wood of the railing. “As always, useless thing you are.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t say you found me too useless last night, Marquise.”

A derisive laugh, quickly lost amongst the noise of the busy docks. “I’m not sure what you mean, darling. Nothing memorable comes to mind.”

“I’ll be sure to redouble my efforts come daybreak, then,” came his easy reply.

“I’ll hold you to it.” He caught a small smile, rare, fleeting, flash across her face.

It was a few moments before she spoke again, breaking the pocket of silence they shared amidst the sheer noise of the port.

“I have business in that tangled mess tonight,” she said, her voice carrying just the barest hint of lament.

“I’ll go get-“ was all he managed before she cut in.

“No.”

“No?” A cocked eyebrow, a curious tone.

“You’ve a price on your head to match mine by now, darling dearest,” was her answer, “…and while I’m more adept at remaining undetected, you have trouble with most basic doorways.”

“But-“

“I said no, love.”

“Very well.”

She turned to him, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek, draw him close- rare, for her, to show affection anywhere but in privacy. “Besides,” she said, her words as warm and soft as the hand cupping his face, “…I need someone to keep an eye on the _Gambit._ Someone I can trust.”

He grinned. “Aye aye, Marquise.”

There, that smile again, as her eyes met his. “Good man.”

“Only the best for the best, dollface.”

She lingered for a span, warmth amidst the cold of the Summoner’s night, before leaving.

“I’ll try to be quick.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want the cabin to stay cold.”

A smirk, a snort. “Keep making comments like that, and it just might.”

“C’mon. I’m emotional over here! You know how I am. I hate to see you leave…”

“…but you love watching me go, yes, as you always say.”

“Well, it hasn’t stopped being true.”

“Flatterer.”

And she departed, coat swishing as her boots click clacked against the gangplank, then the docks.

Alone. One man, one supposedly talkative ship, and not a great deal else.


	2. Wordy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AW YE BIRTHDAY CHAPTER HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME BECAUSE I am sad and lonely and could use some company damnit

“Rough estimates had put us at 5 or so pursuers, but-“

“I didn’t need rough, Summoner- I needed solid numbers.”

The Marquise’s boots clacked against the deck as she strode forward, her crew moving swiftly from her path as she advanced. The Summoner, however, received no such treatment as his path was cut off numerous times as he trailed after his matesprit.

“Well, I told you, I ha-“

“You can bloody well fly! You’re telling me you couldn’t have just swooped in, done a quick count, and left?”

“I said-“

“Yes, you said, but you didn’t _do,_ and that’s what I wanted from you in the first place- no, haul those deckside, we’ll need them later,” she shot back, gesturing at a crewman hauling a large and sloshing barrel below deck.

“I-“

“Nevermind, we can discuss this in my quarters. Come.”

It wasn’t long before she’d led him to her cabin- his as well, technically, but with the mood she was in, he decided against correcting her. A lavish bed beneath a stained glass window took up the far side of the large room. A desk sat to the port side, beneath another window of clear rather than coloured glass. Maps littered the thing, spilling this way and that, all dotted lines and X’s and marks of the Marquise’s doing that all read some variation of, “LOOT!!!!!!!!”

The wall opposite was adorned with all manners of blades, from viciously serrated little things with more teeth than anything he cared to stand, to longswords both curved and straight of various size. Even more maps hung from the walls.

The center of the room was dominated by a glass display case filled with all sorts of valuable baubles and trinkets. He saw things like little carved globes of crystalline make, horns from beasts he had never seen inlaid with gold and silver. Her journal, hide-bound and ever-mysterious to prying eyes such as his that had previously been denied, had a special little stand in the center of the case.

Trunks and chests full of treasure, each item carefully hand-picked and selected by the Marquise herself, lay scattered about the room. It was a wonder how much there was here that she kept separate from the main stores.

But this was all familiar to him, considering he’d spent the last sweep living here. The _Merry Gambit_ was his home now, and considering the reason why, he couldn’t think of a single negative side to the whole arrangement. A single trunk with what few personal possessions you owned sat by itself in the corner, amidst a small pile of blades and lances, pieces of armour and bits of scrap. The trunk itself was plain, basic, completely unadorned unlike the Marquise’s decorating the cabin.

The moment the door shut, the Marquise snatched her hat from her head, jamming the thing onto a stand filled already with its brethren.

He stooped and followed her in. While Mindfang could stand comfortably, the Summoner’s size and ample hornage required a more cautious approach.

“I only asked one thing of you, Summoner. Should I start calling you The Imbecile instead?” She drew herself up to him, her eyes scathing, her scowl sharp and her words like dagger tips as her metal arm grabbed a handful of his tunic. “It was such a simple task! I thought it well within your ability to accomplish.”

His hands slipped to her shoulders, gently pushing her back down as he attempted his most placating smile. “Look, doll, just relax-“

Unfortunately, he’d been raised a soldier, not an orator, and his ill-chosen words set her off even further.

“Relax! How am I to relax when your failure may have doomed us? The _Gambit_ is in danger! _We_ are in danger, and I-“

A finger against her lips to silence her: a calculated risk, but one he felt confident in considering what he knew.

“I handled it.”

Cold metal released his tunic to wrap around his wrist and yank his hand away from her face. “Handled it? _Handled it?_ What in the name of the Signless Suffering Christ do you mean you _handled it?!?!?!?!_

“Boats do not like giant sea beasts very well. Or lances, they don’t take to large, messy holes very well either.”

Gritted teeth, bared fangs…silence.

“I handled it,” he echoed. “Like I said I would.”

“And you think that _excuses_ your behaviour?”

Well…shit.

“I was _worried_ about you, you lumbering oaf! You were gone for half the bloody _night!!!!!!!!_ And you have the audacity to swagger back to me _looking like that and expect me not to be concerned I should-“_

Well, she had a point. Not the swaggering, he never did that, but he had returned looking a little bit of a mess.

“ _-absolutely horrid! This is exactly like that time in Calth when you went and wandered off like a wiggler into the bazaar for days-“_

Well, not _days._ Just...day. A day. A man had to stretch his legs sometimes, and being stuck on a gamblignant’s vessel was not conducive to such desires.

_“-swear, you do this all time, spinning your own web off and away into the depths of idiocy incarnate like you’ve something to prove to the indelible legacy of stupidity itself-!”_

“Babe.”

_“-honestly, you rival Dualscar for sheer, massive dedication to-“_

“Babe.” This was getting serious. She was throwing around comparisons to self-pitying fish, now.

_“-the most hideous choice in clothing! Bones? What sort of barbaric lunatic sews bones onto his tunic?!?! And those ridiculous patches of red fur on your leggings-!”_

_“Babe.”_

_“-can’t even say that’s just how they are, I’ve seen you sewing the most horrid looking bits and baubles onto even the clothing I give you-“_

Her face was warm, flushed from the exertion of sheer anger as she expounded upon what was sure to be a long list of his wrongdoings.

His hands took to the contours of her face, palms rough with scars from the turmoil of war and gentle with experience borne of penance and affection. He straightened, pulling her into himself, guiding her face in. It wasn’t perfect- her lips moving as fast as they were, one sort of mashed into a spot under his nose, and he felt a fang nick his bottom lip as her hot breath spilled onto the edges of his pressed lips.

He kissed her, expressing in action what she would not allow him to say with words, and she let him, eyes wide with shock for a moment before she pulled away.

“You interrupted me,” she said, her voice much quieter, now barely audible as a whisper above the sloshing of the waves, the footfalls above decks of passing crewmen.

“Well, I had to,” he replied, his own words just as hushed. “You were doing that thing again, where you talk too much.”

“Too much?” A faint scowl. “I’m insulted,” she whispered, her eyes darting to check something to the side before rising to meet his again.

“Insulted?” His tone was curious, but there was no room for error here. One misspoken word would spell disaster.

“Yes, very much so.”

He could feel the tingling heat of every one of her words, each one a stark and punctuated contrast to the chilly room.

“What would my Marquise have me do?”

A moment’s silence.

“I demand further…”

She grabbed the collar of his tunic, pulling herself further level with him.

“…reparations.”

“As my Marquise wishes,” he replied, and indeed, it was a long while before either of them spoke again.

All that could be heard was the creaking of the timbers and the lapping of the waves.


End file.
